


Dear Batsby

by H0rr0r_Addict



Series: Dear Batsby art + story [1]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Albinism, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Batsby is a cat btw, Cats, Character Turned Into Vampire, Diary/Journal, Dolls, Dubious Morality, Female Character of Color, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Grave Robbers, Half-Vampires, Human/Vampire Relationship, Morbid, Nonverbal Communication, Not Beta Read, Ouija, Unreliable Narrator, Vampires, madhouses, please read this and comment im lonely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H0rr0r_Addict/pseuds/H0rr0r_Addict
Summary: Dear Batsby,I hope to be long gone when the townsfolk come to eliminate me; I will leave behind a goodbye letter, for the curious children who meant me no harm.It is never the children’s fault, it is always the adults who teach them to hate the unknown.I used to hate the unknown as well, but now I am the unknown.My world used to be full of monsters, until they all were swallowed by the biggest monster of all; Death. I both love and hate Death, it is a fickle monster. Very fickle indeed.You are no monster, My dear Batsby.(Art included)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Dear Batsby art + story [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048252
Kudos: 4





	1. Dear Diary

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very dear to me, I hope I can finish this one unlike the others.

Dear Diary,

My mourning started out rather normal today, yes, I said ‘mourning’ and not ‘morning’. My beloved kitty, Mr. Batsby, unfortunately drowned yesterday on account of me forgetting to drain the tub. I feel terribly guilty, he was always so curious. At least he is in a better place now, I’m sure he was getting bored of our tiny bunker. I’d take him outside to see the town during the day, but the fear would’ve been too much for me. I miss him already, I suppose curiosity did kill the cat this time. Poor little Batsby, I’m so sorry.

* * *

I’d be sitting here all day, wallowing in misery if it wasn’t for the familiar ring of the upstairs bell. The mailman had left me a letter, it was a rare thing. I had no close friends or immediate family to contact me, and companies have long since stopped sending me advertisements to save ink. I fear they believe me to be dead. The only letters I get now are from the neighborhood children, who believe me to be some benevolent spirit. 

The letter was a will and testament from a distant family friend, Ms. Dabria, that I had never met. Like me, Dabria feared the outside world and it’s inhabitants. She was much more dignified with her hermit lifestyle, though, as she had many riches from her expeditions around the world. It seems that something happened during one of those trips, resulting in her husband’s death and causing her to shut herself away from the rest of the world.

I wish I had such a reason for shutting myself away, but I'm afraid paranoia is the only reason. Ms. Dabria had left behind her manor, a large home with a multitude of hidden passageways and secrets. Ms. Dabria’s children had all died not long after their father, their graves are scattered in the yard. I won’t be spending much time out there anyway.

I’m not even sure if I will claim the property, it is miles away from my bunker. I don’t think I even have the courage to see the house myself.

If only Batsby was here, he always gave me the confidence that I needed. Like when my dress had ripped, and I had to sew it back up. I had been scared of poking myself with the needle, but then Batsby almost impaled himself on my bedpost and I realized a little prick wouldn’t kill me. I had to use sandpaper to dull the edges of my bedpost, and I realized how fun it was to build things. Since then I haven’t bored at all. I’m always finding something new to make.

I just wish I had the courage to show people my creations.

The raven outside my window stayed longer this time, I think it sensed my distress. Perhaps it wants to be friends? I feel horrible for already trying to find a replacement for Batsby. The letter says that Ms. Dabria had a pet goat that had ran away, I think she would know how I feel right now. Maybe if I go and claim the manor, I won’t be so sad.

I think I will sleep on this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment any ideas for the plot, i'd love to hear them  
> My discord: 𝕯𝖆𝖎𝖑𝒚_𝖉𝖔𝖘𝖊_𝖔𝖋_𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝒚#0841  
> My server: https://discord.gg/hePQ6Pa  
> feel free to look at my other stories on there <3


	2. Dear Batsby, why did you leave me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our narrator starts being productive

Dear Batsby,

I’ve replaced the ‘diary’ with Batsby’s name, to honor his death. He was a good kitty. 

I’ve made my decision on the manor dilemma, I have chosen not to go. I am happy here, and I do not wish to leave. They will just have to sell the manor, as I have no intention to claim it.

I have also decided on what to do with Mr. Batsby’s body, I have preserved it so it doesn’t stink up the place. Believe it or not, but my father was a mortician with a love of taxidermy. He made the wise choice to teach me the trade before he passed. Batsby’s body has been sitting in my cooler overnight. I do not wish to bury him, as that will require me to go outside to do it. I do not want to have to face the unknown every time I wish to visit my beloved pet. I will immortalize him, as a hat.

Batsby had two tails, and he was the runt of the litter; his mother had abandoned him in the sewers when he was just a little baby. I had found him on one of my midnight strolls, and we had been inseparable ever since. I had saved him that night, but I think he had saved me. I didn’t fear the daylight anymore, I saw it for what it was. A nuisance.

The neighbors have gotten louder lately. I hope they don’t try to burn my home down like last time.

That would be very unfortunate.

  
  



	3. Dear Batsby, Do I look good?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia, our narrator, takes a good look in the mirror

Dear Batsby, 

Do I look good? I haven’t paid much attention to my looks these days. My hair is straight at the front, curly at the back like always. Two different colors too, my hair has always been my most defining feature. I like cutting it in unique ways, gives me an excuse to hold scissors.

I spent hours looking in my cracked mirror, looking for something. Something different about me, I feel like something had changed since my beloved kitty died.

My eyes are still slender and puffy from my tears, my lips are still big and bruised from me chewing on it, and my nose is still sharp and narrow. My skin is still the dull brown it always is, the scars are still a pale pink. I’m still the same old Demonia.

That’s my name, you know, you probably didn’t know though. Because you’re a dead cat, and you can’t understand English.

My nails have grown rather long, I’ve taken the time to sharpen them to points. Just like I’ve done with my teeth.

These, of course, are for self-defence only. My mother would’ve been very disappointed in me if she was still alive. Imagine, your daughter living alone; never going outside and never seeing others. She would probably tell the whole town about me. She can’t, though, because she’s dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment any ideas for the plot, i'd love to hear them  
> My discord: 𝕯𝖆𝖎𝖑𝒚_𝖉𝖔𝖘𝖊_𝖔𝖋_𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝒚#0841  
> My server: https://discord.gg/hePQ6Pa  
> feel free to look at my other stories on there <3


	4. Dear Batsby, where did you go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia has lost her kitty.

Dear Batsby, 

Your body is missing from my cooler.

Where did you go? I don’t think a dead cat has any place to go. Did you really die? Or was I just imagining things? Are you hidden somewhere? 

I took a short walk at midnight, there were newspapers strewn about the plaza. There is going to be a raid on my home in a week or so. They will bring pitchforks and torches, and I will be forced to flee. This saddens me, I don’t think I’ve done much harm to the townspeople. 

If you aren’t dead, it would be nice if you came back home. I need someone to help me pack up. I will go to live in Ms. Dabria’s manor after all, It will be better than here.

I can’t live in a burned down bunker. I’m sure you couldn’t either, you’re a house cat. You deserve to live in a house. Even if it is a bit haunted.

I won’t be alone in the manor, most likely, Ms. Dabria had two sons; Thoren, and  Regalado. Thoren died of a fatal lightning strike, and Regalado had died of Tuberculosis. He was born albino, so he was terribly frail. Their ghosts may be inhabiting the manor, I’m not fazed by that. I just hope they respect my boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment any ideas for the plot, i'd love to hear them  
> My discord: 𝕯𝖆𝖎𝖑𝒚_𝖉𝖔𝖘𝖊_𝖔𝖋_𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝒚#0841  
> My server: https://discord.gg/hePQ6Pa  
> feel free to look at my other stories on there <3


	5. Dear Batsby, welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia gets her cat back

Dear Batsby,

It’s silly to keep writing my introduction like this. You came back hours after I had finished my last entry. You were soaking wet from the rain, and one of your tails were gone. There was, however, a third eye on your little forehead. I chose not to question it, I wouldn’t get much information from a cat. 

I’m just glad you’re back. A new hat would’ve been nice, but your company is even better. 

You’re sleeping soundly in my lap as I’m writing this, I’m scared to get up and go to bed. I need the rest, but I want to make sure that you won’t die during the night. I love you more than anything, Mr. Batsby.

The end of the week is approaching, and I have yet to pack my creations. It was hard enough to drag the ‘materials’ from the mortuary. I think it would be best to leave some of them behind, I can always make more. Plaster isn’t hard to find. It’s the corpses that are difficult to locate. Unnamed graves are old, and unusable. 

Perhaps my ‘hobby’ is the reason why the townsfolk are out to get me.

I think I will stick to lacemaking for now, I will continue my other hobbies when I get more situated at the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment any ideas for the plot, i'd love to hear them  
> My discord: 𝕯𝖆𝖎𝖑𝒚_𝖉𝖔𝖘𝖊_𝖔𝖋_𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝒚#0841  
> My server: https://discord.gg/hePQ6Pa  
> feel free to look at my other stories on there <3


	6. Dear Batsby, Do you see the monsters?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia feels a bit anxious

Dear Batsby,

Your fur looks much healthier now that you’ve eaten. I’ve noticed something about you, your new eye is very peculiar. I feel as though it is always watching me, even when you’re in the other room. I originally thought this would be a problem, a new source of paranoia. However, I've been feeling more at ease lately. I feel as if you’re always protecting me, even with these uncertain times. 

The neighbors have been watching my home more often, they have always been wary of me, but now they are stalking me. They’re observing me; checking for weaknesses in my fortress. I am almost done packing, there is ample space in the back of my hearse. I quite like my hearse, it is the only thing my father had left me when he died. 

I hope to be long gone when the townsfolk come to eliminate me; I will leave behind a goodbye letter, for the curious children who meant me no harm. 

It is never the children’s fault, it is always the adults who teach them to hate the unknown.

I used to hate the unknown as well, but now I am the unknown.

My world used to be full of monsters, until they all were swallowed by the biggest monster of all; Death.

You are no monster, Batsby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment any ideas for the plot, i'd love to hear them  
> My discord: 𝕯𝖆𝖎𝖑𝒚_𝖉𝖔𝖘𝖊_𝖔𝖋_𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝒚#0841  
> My server: https://discord.gg/hePQ6Pa  
> feel free to look at my other stories on there <3


	7. Dear Batsby, It is time to go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia and Batsby embark on their journey.

Dear Batsby, 

Everything is packed up in the hearse, and I have all my paperwork organized. I misread the date of the burning, it is today. I have parked the hearse on a hill, with a view of my home. The townsfolk have found my letter, it has angered them greatly. They are enthusiastically lighting the flames to my house as they chant things like ‘Burn the witch!’ and ‘Evil spreads like flames’. I am no witch, nor am I particularly evil. I’m not quite sure where my morality is. The townsfolk are searching the forest for me.

I fear they will send their dogs after me. 

It is futile to stay here, I must get to the manor before the sun rises tomorrow morning.

I do not miss my old home as much as I thought I would, seeing it in flames wasn’t as hard as seeing you floating in the tub; presumed dead.

You are snuggled up under a knitted blanket in the backseat, your third eye never closes. Your cute little ears twitch every time we hit a bump in the road.

I am excited for what lies ahead. Are you just as excited as me, Batsby? I think you are. You’ve always been a curious cat.

Satisfaction brought you back.


	8. Dear Batsby, What did I hit?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia hits something in the road

Dear Batsby,

I hit something in the road, I hope I didn’t crack any of my teacups with the impact.

I had checked to see what I had hit, but there was no one there. Only a dirty straitjacket on the ground. It had many buckles and chains and was very big. Whoever had worn it must have been a force to be reckoned with. I took it with me, it was a very peculiar garment. I like peculiar things.

The car didn’t feel any heavier so I believe we are in the clear. You have not woken up yet, your soft snoring is very comforting.

The townsfolk are long gone now, they had followed me in their trucks and minivans. They believe they have won, that they have successfully drove me out of town. I suppose they’re right.

I’ve been hearing singing as I drive closer and closer to our destination. The voice is neither feminine or masculine, yet both at the same time. 

I feel... Scared. For the first time in a very long time. The last time I felt this scared was when I had woken up in the mortuary, with Mother and Father crying over me. They had looked as surprised as I did. This is a story for another day, as I am running out of space to write.


	9. Dear Batsby, let's go to the carnival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Batsby, let's go to the carnival.

Dear Batsby,

I am thinking about taking a detour during our trip, Ms. Dabria won’t mind. She is dead. 

The carnival is nearby, I’d like you to see it. I had gone one other time when I was a child, I was the only one who wasn’t scared of the clowns. They were just wearing makeup, I’m still not sure what the fuss was about.

I’d rather see clowns than, say, a ghoul or a vampire. A clown is just a human with messed up humor. Would that make me a clown?

I suppose so.

You have woken up now, you are just as curious as ever. Is this how my parents felt that day at the mortuary? I cherish every day that I have with you, Batsby.

Sometimes I wish you could read these, maybe then you could fathom just how much I care for you. You stare at me with your big yellow eyes as I write this. Do you know that I am writing to you?   


I plan on knitting you some sweaters for the winter months, I hope you like them. At Least wear them once, I’ll give you a mouse as a reward.

I, like you, am very curious.


	10. Dear Batsby, What's the rush?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia slows down a bit

Dear Batsby,

The carnival was amazing, wasn’t it?

I hope to go again some other time. The clowns were very entertaining, you seemed to like it as well.

They didn’t seem particularly glad to see me though, none of them wanted to get near me. It saddens me. Am I truly that repulsive?

Or were the clowns scared of me? Scared of us. I admit I am quite eerie to see, hidden in the dark. The other people in the audience were more scary than me, I’m sure.

Or maybe that’s just me. I’m not used to seeing so many people.

The singing gets louder as we drive.

I think we should spend the night at a hotel, I need to stretch my legs. This short road-trip has been nothing but fleeing and anticipation.

It appears we will not be arriving at the manor next morning, it is not something to be worried about. We have all the time in the world.

I am unsure of why I was so anxious before, the townsfolk aren’t much of a threat. The manor calls to me, it sings of tales long before us. It will have to wait, this is the first time I have been out in a while. I intend to savor this time before I return to the shadows. 

You have given me all the courage I need, Batsby.


	11. Dear Batsby, do you like fashion?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia shares her hobbies with Mr. Batsby

Dear Batsby, 

The hotel is older than I thought it would be, yet it is beautiful nonetheless. Tall towers and wooden doors, it’s like a mini castle. 

Fit for a princess. Or, rather, a lost soul. 

I’m still exhausted from the carnival, so I’ve planned to just sew until tomorrow. We can go to the park and play with bubbles if you’d like.

There’s a bunch of leftover fabric in my car, would you like a pair of trousers? I’m not sure what a housecat would need pants for, but i’m sure you’d appreciate the sentiment. Your fur is so pretty, such an elegant black. I think purple pants would fit the best. 

Perhaps a bowtie as well? And an adorable vest to match. I’ve always dreamed of making clothes for others, but Father thought it would’ve been too much for me.

Too much human interaction, too much stress.

It’s okay. I have you, Batsby. I have my creations, my mannequins.

The silks and cottons pale in comparison to leather.


	12. Dear Batsby, Why is he watching us?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia feels an unwelcome presence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This "..." means that it has switched to Demonia's POV. If the chapter doesnt start with "Dear Batsby" it is happening in real time and isnt being recorded in Demonia's diary.

Dear Batsby,

Do you like the park? I think you do. You’re playing in the autumn leaves as I write this. It has gotten colder, so there aren’t many people in the park. That is good.

You look absolutely adorable in your little sweater vest. You seem to like your vest, so I promise to make more clothes for you. It’s nice to be outside for once, the fear doesn’t effect me as much when you’re around.

...

* * *

There is a man watching us, he looks sick. His shoulders are slumped as if he’s barely able to stand. His skin is a dull green. 

He’s most definitely not dressed for the weather, he has a blood-stained t-shirt on with simple joggers and a dirty trenchcoat. There is a large tear on the side of his shirt, his skin is tainted with purple bruises. His face is hidden under shoulder-length, stringy brown hair. His fishing hat is lopsided and worn.

This ‘Fisherman’ is terribly suspicious, the least he could do is try harder to blend in. I noticed him the moment I sat down on this bench. The Fisherman doesn’t move, he just watches. Of all people to stalk, why me? Or am I simply being paranoid? 

No, he is most definitely stalking me. He knows that I know he’s watching me. He waves at me as the crows circle above us. 

You meow at him from your pile of leaves, silly cat. I gather you in my arms, I have no qualms with risking my own life; but risking yours is out of the question, Batsby.

We take the short walk back to the safety of the hotel, I can feel the Fisherman watching me.

It’s a good thing we’re leaving tomorrow.


	13. Dear Batsby, Who's that at the window?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batsby needs diapers and there's someone knocking at the window

Dear Batsby, 

I’ve been very bored ever since we got back to the hotel. I hope the Fisherman doesn’t intend to follow us when we leave, although I'm unsure how he’d do that; he looked homeless, and half-dead. I can still see the curling scars that crawled along his exposed arms every time I close my eyes.

I almost feel pity for that man, but he has frightened me very much. You seem unconcerned by him, however, I guess cats don’t really care about who is watching them.

I wish I was a cat, Batsby. Maybe then you would be able to talk to me.

…

* * *

I brush my hair in the mirror, doing this always seems to calm me down. The curtains are drawn and the door is locked, but I can’t help but feel uneasy. 

I gaze into the mirror, my eyes still have bags but the redness has gone down. I see pitch black eyes staring back at me, lit up with adrenaline. I’ve never had such a close encounter with another person since the carnival, and even then I wasn’t near the crowd. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a recluse, judging from how excited I am from encountering a homeless stalker. 

Batsby is taking a nap right now, sooner or later we will have to go back out so he can go potty. I should get diapers on the way back, so we won't have to stop every couple hours on the road for him to relieve himself. Batsby has a small bladder.

I’ve still got my hearse parked in the backlot, ready to go at any moment. I just need to pick up some stuff.

Hopefully, the Fisherman will be gone by then. 

I smooth out my dress, and pull some paper from the free notepad that the hotel provides. I start writing down a list of things to buy from the store as I hear a knock on my window.

How peculiar.

My hotel room is on the third floor. Yet the knocking was getting louder and louder. Pounding on the window as if it had done something wrong.

I hid under the bed with a sleeping Batsby in my arms, the banging stopped after what felt like an eternity.

I hear the soft singing again. The manor is beckoning me, taunting me.

I intend to answer that call, but first Batsby needs diapers.


	14. Dear Batsby, The manor is on the horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia and Batsby leave the hotel and drive to the manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this story good? im starting to doubt my writing

Dear Batsby, 

Please stop trying to jump out the window. I understand that you want to chase the birds but I can’t stop the car every time you see one.

The hotel owner had given me something before we left, a parting gift, because I was the first guest they’ve had in quite a while. It was a snowglobe, with little snow people in it. I think it’s nice.

I trust you won’t try to break it, Batsby.

…

* * *

Batsby looked out the back window as we drove off to the manor, he kept meowing at something. I checked out what he was looking at but I couldn’t see anything. The smell of blood was in the air, and the voices were getting louder. Am I going mad?

I had heard from one of the hotel staff that the area around Ms. Dabria’s manor was overrun with self-proclaimed vampires. Whether or not they actually were vampires is debatable. There is also an asylum not too far away, it could just be patients that have escaped. I hope the locks on the house aren’t broken.

I’ve read a bit more about the Dabria family, Regalado had actually died shortly after his mother. This means that the family’s deaths went in this order; Mr. Dabria, Thoren, Ms. Dabria, and Regalado. I’ve decided to call him Reggie. He was said to be a recluse like his mother. He must have been lonely, his only company being the ghosts of his family.

This is all so intriguing, I was always so fascinated by true-crime documentaries and books about murder mysteries; now I get to experience it first hand.

I wonder if there are clues in the manor that will reveal just what killed Mr. Dabria. I hope it isn’t too obvious, though, that would be terribly dull. There is a small town near the manor, so I will go there at midnight.

We keep driving along the road, it’s cold as we get up the hill. I wrap my shawl around me to stay warm. Batsby sits in my lap, looking out the window. 

I see the manor on the horizon, It’s bigger than I thought it would be. I wonder what secrets are hidden behind it’s walls.


	15. Dear Batsby, Did you see that?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia reaches the house.

Dear Batsby,

The manor is beautiful, isn’t it? The voices have stopped as well. Do they know i’m here? Is that why they’ve gone silent?

You’ve got a lot of nerve to be napping right now, we have to move our stuff into the house. This is going to take a while.

First, I think I’ll take a look around the manor.

…

* * *

I carried a sleeping Batsby in my arms as I walked around the house. It’s very big, it’s a good thing I have a map with me. 

As I traversed the long halls of the manor, I came across a large door. I opened it a bit to take a look inside, it seems like a normal living room; but for rich people. 

There are photos along the many walls of the room, most of them are pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Dabria during their travels. The most notable one is of the couple in this very room, presumably during their honeymoon; Ms. Dabria is wearing a gorgeous pink gown and her husband is wearing a diving suit. 

How eccentric.

I turn to look at the wall opposite to this one, there’s pictures of Ms. Dabria’s children; Thoren and Regalado. There’s a huge portrait of the whole family above the fireplace, they all have such happy faces. Well, except Regalado; he looks miserable.

Speaking of which, there’s a smaller photo next to a the fake plant in the corner. It’s little Reggie, wearing a polar bear costume. So cute. His white hair blends with his costume. It seems this was taken minutes before disaster as Mr. Dabria was right behind him, wearing his own bear costume. I can imagine how scared poor little Reggie must’ve felt.

Thoren looked just like his mother, unlike Regalado; he was albino. He was older than Reggie, he seems to be in his teens in the family portrait while Reggie looked rather young. With black glasses perched on his nose, I’m sure Thoren was popular with women. Or anyone for that matter.

As I was looking at the pictures I could see something move out of the corner of my eye. I turned around to the door, it was closed; and I would’ve heard someone open it.

Perhaps it is just my imagination, that is what I would say if I was anyone but me.

I marched over to the fireplace with Batsby in hand and placed a finger over the book on the mantel. It looked older than anything else in the room, this manor was said to have been built with secret passageways and tunnels that led to chambers underneath the home. I tried to pull the book down, but it wouldn’t budge. Instead, a rumbling sound could be heard from the empty fireplace. 

The back of the fireplace had revealed a small opening, that presumably led to a tunnel.

I know better than to go in tunnels I have no way of getting out of. After I pack up I’ll check out the manor’s library to see if I can find a map of the tunnels, or at least a clue as to what is in them.

I find four more tunnel openings on my way back to the front room, they’re all marked on the map. 

This is exactly the mystery I needed.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pictures mentioned are here https://archiveofourown.org/works/27966629/chapters/68495852 or just click 'Next Work'


	16. Dear Batsby, Is anyone here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia explores more of the manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been a while since i wrote the last chapter so Demonia may seem different as i try to give her more personality

…

I spent the night in the car, I just don’t feel safe in the manor. I keep hearing things. People moving. Voices.

Music, It's probably just teenagers partying downstairs. Where there's an abandoned house, there's dumb teens in the basement.

I remember when I was like that, before the paranoia became too much. Before I was utterly humiliated by the people I thought were my friends. I had told them my secrets, and they stabbed me in the back.

Idiots.

The air is foggy today. I can't see the road anymore. Batsby just woke up, he's as energetic as ever.

I dress in a lavender dress and set off into the house. I hope I can find a map of the tunnels somewhere, or at least make my own while exploring. There's hardly any phone service here, but it's not like I plan to call anyone.

My pointy nails scratch the door as I push it open. I've already seen the lounge, so I head across the hall to the kitchen. It's just as big as I expected it to be. There was a huge kitchen area with a sturdy looking vintage fridge and a huge oven. To the left there was a little dining table and some stools. Everything is so fancy here.

The kitchen was cleaner than I thought it would be. It's been abandoned for a long time, and I don't think those teenagers came here to clean.

There is something very out of place ,though, in the form of a large steel door. It’s rusty and stained with a red liquid, different from the elegance of the rest of the room. It seemed to be the door to the wine cellar, down below. I glanced at the door and ran back to the car, grabbing a flashlight after checking up on Batsby.

I felt an ominous aura coming from the door, but my curiosity got the best of me. I pushed the heavy door open, panting from the exhaustion of running back to the car for my flashlight.

I creeped down the twisting stairs to the cellar, clutching my dress like a lifeline. It was cold, I could see my breath. Are wine cellars supposed to be this cold? I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been in one. My parents were never rich.

It was dark in the cellar, there was no light except the flames coming from the sconces in the stairway. I turned on the flashlight, bracing myself for what I was about to see.

It was horrible.

There were piles upon piles of bloody human corpses, strung up like dead pigs in a slaughterhouse. There was a figure sitting in the corner, writhing in the darkness. It sensed me, and turned to hiss at me. It’s bloody fangs protruded from its mouth. It scrambled towards me, but was stopped short by a shackle clamped around it’s ankle. It hissed at me, a step away from biting me. I was frozen in shock, just what is going on here? 

This person, this creature can’t be human. I could see the darkness in its red eyes. There was no conscience, only pain and bloodlust. The need to hurt another.

In a fit of stupidity on my part, I reached over to touch the creature. I couldn’t, though, as I was yanked back by a pale hand on my neck. The creature scuttled away, most likely in fear of what was holding me hostage.

A masculine voice muttered, “Idiot.” and I was dragged into the realm of unconsciousness.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	17. Dear Batsby, I have so many questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonia wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit dialogue heavy, along with the introduction of a new character (not that new if u follow my DeviantArt) 
> 
> Hope you like it! ❤

Dear Batsby, I fear we’re in a bit of a crisis.

...

* * *

I woke up with a terrible headache, my vision was blurry. 

Just how long was I unconscious? 

I lifted my head up, there in front of me was the grand decor of what I assumed to be the dining room, judging from the large table in front of me with plates already set.

I could hear movement behind me, it was faint but I could sense another presence. A pale, scarred hand laid itself on my shoulder. 

I was scared this time, truly terrified. I was paralyzed by fear. Even if I wasn’t scared the chains holding me would prevent escape.

The air was suffocating. Whoever I was dealing with wasn’t human. Before I knew it I was shaking.

“You do not need to be afraid, I don’t mean to hurt you.”, said a voice.

The same voice from the cellar. I may be afraid, but I am not weak.

I sniffed, and spoke in a steely voice; the kind of tone my mother used whenever I got into trouble. Not angry, just disappointed. 

“Show yourself, and we will see if you truly mean harm to me.” I tried to turn to look at them, but they moved out of sight. I only caught a glimpse of white hair.

I heard a sigh behind me. Then footsteps, and the clinking of glass. Then, a glass of water was slid over to me. There they were, in the flesh.

My eyes burned from staring. I wasn’t focusing on the glass, I was focusing on the man in front of me. He was fairly tall, with a lithe figure. The most distinct feature of his was his eyes, a bright crimson. He was pale, his skin was almost pink, his hair was even lighter. Pure white.

This is Regalado, or Reggie. He looks older than he did in the portrait, taller. How is he not dead?

He straightened his tie, and poured a glass of red liquid for himself. Wine? Or something else?

“I’m sure you have many questions.”, he said after about a minute of silence. “This is not a dream, and I am not dead. Well, not completely dead.”

I considered his words, how can he be dead and not dead at the same time?

I shimmied my arm out of the chains and reached for the glass. I could see my reflection in the water, I really need to get more sleep.

“How are you still alive?” I asked, “You died of tuberculosis years ago.”

He tilted his head at me, as if he was judging my very existence. He took another sip of his wine.

“You are not the first to ask this of me.”

“Oh really? And are you willing to answer me as you did them.”

“I didn’t need to answer, they died shortly after.”

That made me shiver a bit. This guy is something else.

I gulped. “And why am I not dead yet?”

“It’s been a long time since I was graced with human company, I wanted to see how you guys were doing. It seems to be going horribly based on how dead you guys look nowadays.”

I snickered a bit at that. “No, I’d say that’s just me. I was chased out of my home for being the way I am.”

“I see humans are still horribly judgemental.”

“Yes, I suppose they are.”

“I’m sure you are not completely innocent though. I’ve got you on file, along with the other suckers my mother called to inherit this house. All unaware they are just food.”

“Food? For who? Are you a cannibal?”

He chuckled. “So many questions for such a little thing.”

I ignored that comment. “Answer the question, Reggie.”

He raised his eyebrow at the nickname. He walked around the dining table, and stopped to pick up a folder.

He cleared his throat and started reading off what I assume is my file.

“Demonia Mortis, twenty-four. Lived alone with her cat after her parents die of ‘inexplicable circumstances’.”

He looked to me. “Does this sound familiar?”

I said nothing, glaring at him. He continued, rounding the table.

“Only seen outside in the dead of night, carrying a shovel and a lantern. A body is often found dug up the next morning. Tell me, Demonia, just what will I find if I search your hearse?” He laid his gaze at me.

I couldn’t look at him. He knew of my ‘hobby’. I sipped from my water and sighed. “They were already dead, and I needed something to kill time.”

He placed the file in front of me. “True, they were dead long before you came along. I’m curious however, just what do you use with the bodies?”

“I use their bones for decoration, the flesh for cloth and such. Teeth for jewellery.” I gestured to the various canines hanging from my wrists. 

“How creative.” He said, “Me and my associates could use someone like you, you definitely know how to make a corpse go a long way.”

I stared at him for a moment. “Your associates?”

“Yes, it is tiresome. Disposing the bodies when the blood runs dry.”

I was so confused. “Just what are you?”

He put his glass done and reached over to me. I closed my eyes, I was done for. 

Nothing happened. He just yanked my cross off my neck. I was never very religious, but my parents were.

His hand made a burning sound as he held the cross. He threw it across the room, it hit the pristine marble floor. His red eyes bore holes into me.

“Tell me, Demonia, what do you know of vampires?”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comment any ideas for the plot, i'd love to hear them  
> My discord: 𝕯𝖆𝖎𝖑𝒚_𝖉𝖔𝖘𝖊_𝖔𝖋_𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝒚#0841  
> My server: https://discord.gg/hePQ6Pa  
> feel free to look at my other stories on there <3


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